by P. R. Black
‘I didn’t know anything about the owners – just that the house had burned out and the grounds were derelict. What was he like?’
Prill paused. ‘Difficult man to know. Kept himself to himself. Mostly.’
‘He died, I think. Is that right?’
‘Yes, he died. Still, The Glades, eh? I saw the sign. I like it. It’s a good name. You’ve won a gold mine here, you know. There are some very rich and important people who live in Brenwood Green. Very important people. Present company excepted of course!’ Here she broke up into utterly inappropriate, entirely forced laughter. Vonny joined in for politeness’s sake.
‘You couldn’t have picked a better place to make your home, and I mean that most sincerely. And a place to raise children, too. If you want them, of course. Clive and I never did. Perfectly happy on our own. I’ve seen the big fellow a couple of times – the man of the house, that is. He’s your, eh…’
‘You mean Seth? My husband, yes.’
Prill nodded, as if this had satisfied something that bothered her. ‘You’ve both made a wonderful job of the site, I have to say. Quite a difference from how it used to be here, of course. When it was Ryefields.’
‘The Glades, you mean? That’s what it’s always been called – the plot, and the woods. I didn’t name it. That’s what the raffle organisers said, anyway.’
Prill frowned. ‘No, there’s been some mistake, there. The house and the woods and the meadow are called Ryefields. Not sure any rye’s been grown here for about a hundred years, but that’s the name. Unless they changed it. I can see why they’d want to.’
‘Oh? Why’s that?’
‘Just a break with tradition, really.’ Prill’s head snapped up, and she said to one of the builders: ‘Goodness, young man – you really must be more careful with that debris. Haven’t you got a skip or something to put it all in?’
Devin, who was watching this exchange from the open patio, said: ‘We do have some skips around the side. Please don’t worry about the waste… in Vonny’s house.’
Vonny suppressed a smile at the emphasis.
‘I’m sure I won’t,’ Prill said, pointedly, staring at the foreman until he disappeared inside the house. ‘Sorry,’ she said, turning back to Vonny, ‘young men and big projects… I’ve had experience in these matters. You have to be firm. That’d be my advice to you.’
‘So, you’re local, then, Prill?’
‘Yes, of course – over the road, a hundred yards due east. You might see the sign – On Pointe. That’s the name of the house. That’s a dancing term. Ballet.’
‘Is that a fact?’ Vonny said, biting the inside of her mouth.
‘Yes, I used to do ballet. Long time ago. Clive and I, we’ve been here a good while. Brenwood Green’s not so much of a town, just a collection of houses. We live quietly, here. I’m sure you’ll come to appreciate it.’
‘Good of you to tell me – Prill, was it?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Well, I’m looking forward to being neighbours, Prill. Perhaps one day I could come over to yours, for coffee?’
The older lady lurched forward and laid a hand on her arm. Vonny flinched; her instincts had told her Prill was going to bite her. ‘Oh, do, please do! I’d be delighted to see you. Pop over, day or night. Just mind Archie the dog – it’s only taken him six years to get over the postman changing, you know. And some days he’d still like to take a bite out of him.’
‘I’m sure I’ll be fine. I love dogs.’
Prill’s nostrils flared. ‘Quite.’
‘I hope you’ll excuse me, Prill. I have a busy day ahead.’ There was a silence; Prill’s gaze never moved from Vonny’s. She felt every single follicle on the nape of her neck tingle. ‘So. You know your way in; I daresay you can find your way out.’
‘Yes… Unless you’d like me to supervise these young men for you? It’s no trouble. I’ve got quite a bit of experience in this game, you know. I certainly know builders, though I don’t know these ones. Straight out of school, if you ask me.’
‘Straight out of school, maybe, but they’re employed by an excellent company. Trustworthy, in my book. Was there anything else?’
Ignoring the question and its clear implication, Prill said: ‘You must forgive me, young lady, I’ve taken up quite enough of your time. This project of yours is quite something, I must say. I love the shape of the roof – quite imposing. Though not too imposing. Otherwise I’d have to sue! Ha!’
Here Vonny did laugh, even as Prill disappeared up the path, picking her way carefully through the mud, then disappearing through the side gate.
Vonny signalled to Devin that it was safe to come out. ‘What’s the deal with the gargoyle, there?’ Vonny asked. ‘You know her?’
‘No. She was walking up and down the road when we drove in. Assumed she lives around here. What did she want?’
‘Says she’s “concerned”.’
‘I see.’ Devin pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘One Who Watches. Your first nosy neighbour, how about that? I’d say she’s going to be “concerned” for as long as you live under this roof.’
‘I’d say you’re right. She mentioned what this place was called before – Ryefields. I’d thought it was always called The Glades?’
‘News to me,’ Devin said. ‘But I can’t say I know this place very well.’
‘So you haven’t heard of the previous owner, then? Dan Grainger?’
Devin shook his head. ‘Don’t know anything about the place. One of the boys said he had heard the fish and chips are excellent in the town centre, though.’
‘I’ll bet. You see that door, Devin?’
‘Uh, the garden gate? Yeah.’
‘Is there something wrong with it?’
Devin looked aghast. ‘No, perfectly good, I think. Do you think there’s something wrong with it?’
‘No, I’m glad to hear that it works fine. So next time – shut it behind you. All right?’
4
When Seth pulled up outside the Ellis & Lowe equestrian centre, he felt a sense of childlike excitement that usually only kindled these days in record shops. In its sober red and white livery, set into a long, low-level building, it was every inch the country outfitter’s. Seth felt like he was being taken to a toy shop just before Christmas. He indulged the same absurd sense of wonder and glee. It was like being allowed to handle the gold and jewels of an Arabian fantasy, so long as he put them back where he found them. Just to look would be fine.
The car park was busy and there were a number of people inside, most of them wearing the same type of clothes that were visible on the racks. Many of them gave Seth The Look. He always smiled in response, no matter how psychotic-seeming its source, and most of the time, he got a smile in return. Seth had long hair and a nose stud; these people did not.
The place had a garden centre vibe, rack after rack of clothes and equipment – helmets, gloves, jodhpurs, boots, jackets, base layers, fleeces. Saddles, of course, burnished leather with the same finish as the back seat of a Roller, brasses and studs, and then the really kinky stuff – bridles, reins, and God knew what else.
Seth wasn’t here for that stuff, although he took his time to drink in the atmosphere, the sense of… well, there was no escaping it, class, that seemed to permeate the room, from the lazy sweep of the brass ceiling fans to the agreeably springy carpeting at his feet. There was no mistaking the horsiness, either – Seth rather suspected that the pneumatic quality of the flooring was to allow the creatures to browse the racks and shelves for themselves. It wouldn’t have been the world’s biggest surprise to see one leaning over his shoulder to nudge some sturdy cowhide saddlebags, to feel for the quality.
As alien and absurd as much of this seemed, it did not, however, occur to Seth that he might not quite fit into this place. Seth had ‘more front than Southend’, as his father was fond of telling him.
Equestrian art almost but not quite tempted him – even a painting of red serge, bla
ck hats, white jodhpurs and gleaming brass at the Boxing Day Hunt had its charms – as did the garden ornamentation, including some ludicrously sized and priced ornamental carvings of tigers on the prowl – too expensive to be naff, surely. But these weren’t what he’d come for.
‘Can I help you?’ asked a man with the deportment, pointy chin and narrowed eyes of a wary cat, as Seth browsed the racks at another department, tucked near the back of the store.
‘Actually, yeah, I think you can.’ Then told the cat-like man what he wanted. In return, the little man whooped with laughter.
‘That’s the first time I’ve ever been asked that!’ the little man said.
‘I mean it,’ Seth said, though he couldn’t help laughing, too. ‘No half measures. No quarter asked, and none given, my man. Let’s do this!’
A while later, as he was paying for his purchases, the man who’d helped him with his order said: ‘So are you a horse-riding man, sir? I never thought to ask, in all that excitement.’
‘Not quite, though the thought has crossed my mind. Is it big in this neck of the woods, then? Equestrian, type, horsey-business?’
‘Oh, very much so. Good flat countryside around here. In fact, there are a few breeders and trainers in this neck of the woods. There was a place up on Brenwood Green, you know. Place in the woods. Ryefields. Owned by a very strange man. Came to a bad end.’
Seth, who had been accepting a neatly tied parcel of goods – no plastic bags here, my good man – hesitated for a moment. ‘Brenwood Green, did you say? Hey, that’s my manor. Or, it is for now. What did you say the name of the place was, again?’
‘Ryefields. There was a bit of a to-do last year, a nasty business.’
‘What kind of nasty business?’
‘Oh, the police were involved… Some grubby family matter that ended badly. All cleared up now. Put it out of your mind. You’ve moved here recently, did you say?’
‘Yeah, we’re building a house, in fact. Brenwood Green postcode. The Glades, is the name of the plot.’
‘The Glades…’ The assistant frowned. ‘I’m not sure I know that one. Well – you’ve come to the right place. This is one of the best places to live in the country, I can guarantee you that. You’ll come back, now, won’t you?’
‘You bet. I’ll bring the other half, next time. She’ll love it!’
Seth turned to go, his package tucked under his arm. He’d marvelled at the assistant’s old-school dexterity in twining the string around the brown paper package, though he regretted not asking for a bag, whether burlap, sackcloth or bearskin. As he passed, he noticed a tall, stiff-backed man thumbing through a parade of tank tops on the racks, fingers nimble as a croupier’s dealing cards. He had a long, angular jaw and a vulpine nose. Straggly white hair poked out the back of a flat cloth cap, the only untidy note in an otherwise well-ordered, almost military ensemble.
Without looking up, the man said to Seth in a loud, clear voice: ‘Ryefields is The Glades.’
‘Sorry, mate?’ Seth stopped, and in doing so the package slithered out from underneath his arm. He swore; he regretted it.
‘Let me help you, there – no, it’s OK, Benjamin,’ the man said, raising a hand as the assistant sprung loose from behind the counter. ‘I’ve got it.’
The newcomer quickly scooped up the package and handed it to Seth, grinning with a pristine set of newish front teeth. ‘I do wish they’d sort out some decent bags at this place,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t get me wrong, great customer service – when they actually want you to leave with the stock.’
‘Thanks, pal,’ Seth said. He carried the package on his forearms, tucking it in under his chin. ‘And, sorry – I think you mentioned The Glades, a minute ago?’
‘Yes, that’s what you’re calling the place now, aren’t you? Forgive me – I’m pig-headed at times, my wife will tell you. I’m Clive Fulton – your neighbour, in fact. In Brenwood Green.’
‘Ah! Your wife’s… Prill. That right? Vonny’s met her. Says she’s really interested in the plot.’
Clive Fulton didn’t quite roll his eyes, but there was no mistaking his exasperation. ‘Yes,’ he sighed, ‘that’s her. Extremely interested. In everyone’s plots.’
‘Oh – right. Well, sounds like she’ll keep the builders on their toes, that’s for sure. I’m Seth. Pleased to meet you. Wait, hang on a second, I can’t shake your hand… There we go, let’s do a fist-bump instead.’
Clive complied, grinning, rapping his knuckles off Seth’s. ‘I’m so sorry I haven’t come over to say hello in person – I’ve seen your wife driving in and out. You might have seen me knocking around the farm across the road. Or out with the dogs.’
‘Sorry if I can’t place you, pal – I’ve not been here too much, really – been busy with work. I’m in the music business. Been away in London quite a lot, and had a couple of weeks out in Sweden, too. My wife’s in charge of the build, any road up. I’m just a casual observer, there. Nice to meet you – great part of the world, this. And what about this place?’
‘Oh, I know, it’s a treasure.’
‘It’s a toy shop for big people.’
‘Yes, quite.’ Clive chuckled. ‘Some toys being more expensive than others, I have to say. Have you seen the garden centre? Excellent selection. There are dedicated centres a few miles’ drive up the A-road, but this is a handy little place. Excellent staff. The manager – Benjamin over there’s father – he’s a class act. Had the place nearly forty years, I understand.’
Seth reflected that it might have been the first time someone had used the word ‘quite’ in his presence in that context without it coming across as stabbably patronising. ‘So, you were saying, sorry – about The Glades?’
‘Ah yes. The Glades used to be called Ryefields. Sorry – I’m not usually so nosy, but Benjamin’s voice carries, somewhat.’
‘Ryefields. That’s where the “family difficulty” happened – according to your boy, behind the counter.’
‘Something of that nature.’
‘Family difficulty meaning someone died?’
‘Afraid so. Dan Grainger. The man who owned your property previously. And his two sons. It was a domestic matter, I think.’
‘I thought for a minute there you were going to tell me the guy was a serial killer or something. That’d be just my luck.’ When Clive didn’t answer – as if he refused to answer – Seth pressed on: ‘How long ago was this… family matter?’
‘Oh, about… a year, two years ago? Nothing to worry about. Ancient history. I think every trace of Dan Grainger’s house has gone by now. It burned down, you know. Bad business, but it’s all been cleared up.’
‘Right… Thanks for telling me. I’m glad someone did. I’ll check that out. When you say bad business, are we talking… murder?’
‘Suicide.’ Fulton cleared his throat. It seemed to preclude Seth’s next observation that three people was a lot of suicides. ‘You might struggle to find any details about it. People kept things very quiet at the time. Big shock, all the same. I remember seeing the flames. Nothing could be done by the time the police and fire brigade arrived. I take it no one mentioned this to you in the brochures? It didn’t feature on any literature about the place?’
‘Well, no… It’s kind of complicated. We didn’t buy The Glades as such. We won it – on an auction, £25 for the whole plot.’
Seth had to take Clive through the story twice before he deigned to believe it. ‘My God! I can’t believe we didn’t know about it. Steal of the century. I would have put in for a couple of tickets myself. How did you hear about it?’
‘Advertised online. There was an Instagram campaign, I think… I’m amazed you didn’t hear about it. Surely they’d have tried to sell it locally, bad business or not?’
Clive wandered away a little from what Seth was saying. ‘Yes… I think if we had acquired Ryefields, we’d have moved our house across the road, expanded our farm a little. Such an amazing plot at Ryefields – sorry, The G
lades. I should get that right. Your own woodland – that must be incredible.’
‘It is lovely. Though I get a spooky feeling at night. I’m a Croydon boy, you know? I thought I’d love the peace and quiet, but sometimes it gets too quiet. Anyway… I’m sure it’ll change once we move out of the caravan and bunk up inside.’
‘You’ve built your own place, is that right?’
‘Totally. From scratch. My other half, Vonny – she designed it, you know. Two levels, skylight, atrium, swimming pool at the back… Going to be some place.’
Clive held open the door for Seth, and followed him outside. ‘That’s the, eh, dark-skinned girl, yes?’
Seth scanned the man’s expression for even the merest hint of anything he didn’t like. Finding none, he said: ‘That’s her. Vonny. Looks like a model, doesn’t she? Bit like David Bowie’s wife. I know. Don’t worry, you can say it. “She looks like Iman.” She does. I’m delighted, in case you’re wondering. Ever feel like you’ve won at life? I won at life. Don’t actually call her Iman, though, because she does bite.’
Clive was delighted by this. ‘I’ll be sure to stick to Vonny! Anyway – lovely to meet you, Seth. At some point you should come over, once you’re settled – have a glass of sherry with me, have a look around the farm. It’s going to be great having you in our community. We could even drop a pint over at the Brown Boar.’
‘Dropping a pint – you’re speaking my language!’
‘Excellent!’ They fist-bumped again. Seth watched him climb into a mud-spattered Land Rover – of recent vintage – and nodded as he tooted the horn on the way past.
Once back in his own car, Seth searched ‘Brenwood Green’ and ‘Ryefields’ on his phone, cross-referenced.
Nothing came up.
‘Now that, my friend, is a puzzler,’ he said aloud.
5
The day had gone from clear and cold to overcast, and slightly more benevolent. Frost no longer glittered on the lawn and the paths, and the builders had disappeared inside the house to complete some sanding work. This was when Vonny became bored enough to decide she wanted a run.